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The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
Wallace Stevens
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Wallace Stevens
Age: 75 †
Born: 1879
Born: October 2
Died: 1955
Died: August 2
Journalist
Lawyer
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Writer
Book
World
Calm
Became
Quiet
Reader
House
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.
Wallace Stevens
A poet's words are of things that do not exist without the words.
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Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
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Civilization must be destroyed. The hairy saints of the North have earned this crumb by their complaints.
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In a world of universal poverty The philosophers alone will be fat Against the autumn winds In an autumn that will be perpetual.
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We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark.
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I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.
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It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.
Wallace Stevens
There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place.
Wallace Stevens
God is in me or else is not at all.
Wallace Stevens
Everything possessed the power to transform itself, or else, and what meant more, to be transformed.
Wallace Stevens
If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.
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Thus the theory of description matters most. It is the theory of the word for those For whom the word is the making of the world, The buzzing world and lisping firmament.
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The poet is the priest of the invisible.
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The imagination is the liberty of the mind It is intrpeid and eager and the extreme of its achievement lies in abstraction.
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A violent order is disorder and a great disorder is an order. These two things are one.
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It is poverty's speech that seeks us out the most. It is older than the oldest speech of Rome. This is the tragic accent of the scene.
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Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
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To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of painting for a discussion of their own problems.
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How cold the vacancy When the phantoms are gone and the shaken realist First sees reality. The mortal no Has its emptiness and tragic expirations.
Wallace Stevens
